


1930s

by TheThilde



Series: A century of Femlock [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, F/F, Femlock, John is Jane Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:49:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6232216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThilde/pseuds/TheThilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John meet again. At Angelo's. As women. In the 1930s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1930s

**Author's Note:**

> This fic goes with the 5th illustration of 'A century of Femlock' which I post at tumblr (@thethilde). It's my longest fic yet, I'd love to know what you think, please leave a comment :)

     Sherlock barged into Angelo’s and stopped abbruptly just two steps in. Not for the first time she wished for something, a scarf or a train to drag behind her, but seeing as the first one would certainly wind up caught in a dorway and make her look silly and the second was just stupidly impractical, she settled for a dramatic bounce of her lucious curly hair. This carefully executed spectacle of an entrance went unnoticed as the heavy door closed slowly without a sound. The only other people in the restaurant were a middle-aged couple (happily married, two dogs, one daughter currently down with hay fever) at the table in the furthest left corner, Lestrade, sitting at the table closest to the door and ignoring Sherlock’s arrival as instructed and a man (very self-confident, tasteless expensive suit – new money) seated further in, behind the DI. She decided not to take offence at the lack of impressed gasps and sauntered towards her prefered table in the middle of the right row.

    She sat down facing the door. Soon after the waiter took her order for a coffee with milk (‘On the house as usual Miss Holmes’) and fetched it almost immidiately. She stirred in two spoons of sugar and braced herself. The wait could take anywhere between fifteen minutes and two hours, as the suspect arrived for his ridiculously early everyday lunch between noon and two p.m. She wondered what was to come first – his inevitable appearance or her death of boredom. Both were equally likely to happen.

     Ten minutes hadn’t passed and Sherlock was slumped so far in her chair, only her head and long neck were visible over the table. She thought of her brother sighing at this unbecoming behaviour and drooped additional two inches. She wasn’t above irritating his imaginary presence. She looked at the door again and perked up. Someone was pushing through, why is the door so heavy, is sit the man, it must be! Was she to live through this day after all? But it wasn’t the suspect who came in. Short blond woman, in her early thirsties, dull. She started walking towards the back of the restaurant, Sherlock keeping her eyes on her, but instead of passing it, she sat down at the detective’s table. How very forward of her, perhaps not dull, not dull after all. Sherlock took a closer look. Her hair wasn’t just blond, it was a mix of various shades of light brown, styled fashionably, her eyebrows were dark brown, her dark blue eyes weren’t lined with kohl, but were… crinkling with amusement? The woman had taken of her gloves and offered Sherlock her hand.

'I’m Jane. Watson. I’m…'

'France or Italy?' – Sherlock interrupted.

'Sorry..?' – Jane frowned in confusion.

'Which was it – France or Italy?'

'Sorry, how did you..?'

'You’re clearly from England, your accent says London born and bred. You’re not too well off. Your earrings are your only piece of jewellery. You could be a minimalist, but the floral print on your dress suggests otherwise. Also they’re clearly very well-worn, a family heirloom most likely. You have no sense of style to speak of – this dress should never be worn with these shoes. All your clothing is made of cheap, but lasting fabrics and yet… Your dress fits you very well, the shape is very up-to-date. Also your hair is very fashionably cut and styled, though the abundance of hair product tells me you’re not trying to look good, but copying something you found practical. Were could you accidentaly acquire, well, at list a bit of taste? Certainly not London, not with your limited budget. Someplace where being dressed well is a norm, Europe then certainly, your tan and sun-bleached hair says warm climat (not Scandinavia then), which leaves either France or Italy.'

'Italy. Excuse me…'

'Oh, I should have known, you wouldn’t be able to afford shoes like that in France on a nurse’s pension.'

'How?'

'Your aforementioned tamed hair, very practical, coupled with your hands. They’re slightly calloused, with short and clean nails. Also the skin on your right hand is noticably drier, which is common with nurses, due to their contact with disinfectants.'

'You got everything right. It’s brilliant.' – Jane’s smile is broad, honest and completely disarming.

'That’s not what people usually say.' – Sherlock mumbles, blushing inexplicably.

'Oh, I can imagine.' - Jane smirks - 'Since you know everything about me, could you maybe tell me something about yourself? I noticed you were quite a stunner, now I’m aware of your, well, genius but I can’t help wanting to know your name… And more.'

Since the moment Jane joined her table, she got one hundred percent of Sherlock’s attention. It had been neccessary in order to take in every detail of her appearance (very expressive face, such an adorable nose, how can a nose be so charming, nevermind, focus! observe!) and deduce. However, upon hearing the nurse’s praise she downright fixated on the short woman. People didn’t really praise her for her deductions, ever and she was feeling very flustered. Her face was very hot, she passed the point of charmingly flushed, red, and was now aiming for betroot. She hoped that like metal, skin turns white after reaching a certain temperature.‘My name’s Sherlock Holmes’ she said this time squeezing the offered hand. ‘I’m a consulting detective, the only one in the world…’ she trailed off and froze in panic.

The man who had been sitting alone next to them stood up and glanced at his watch. A unique timepiece, very ostentatious and easily recognizable. The watch, which Sherlock failed to notice earlier belonged to the man she was after, it was him, and she didn’t notice, he must have come early today, she and Lestrade – they had a plan, it’s to late for it now. As the man took a step, she stood up abruptly, mirrored by Lestrade at the door. She opened her mouth to say something to stop him, but it was to late, he noticed and tried to make a run for the door, but fell over taking the next step. Sherlock blinked. The whole scene took less than four seconds. Lestrade approached the lying man and she sat down again uncomprehending. What had just happened? Why did he fall? She sat down with her mouth still open and looked at Jane. She raised an eyebrowe and looked at the floor, Sherlock followed her gaze and saw her slowly moving her leg back under the table. She looked back at Jane’s face.

'Wh…' - she started, but she was interupted.

'When a genius consulting detective panics over some man leaving it’s safe to asume he’s not a good guy, wouldn’t you say?'

'Excellent reflexes.'

'Thank you. Do you need an assistant? I could do with some work actually…'

'And a flatshare I think. I can be your flatmate too.'

'Yes... Yes, I think you’ll do.'

Sherlock smiled tentatively at Jane. She smiled back and traced the detectives calf under the table with the tip of her shoe. Sherlock blushed and look away. Jane smiled even wider. Sherlock knew that smirk ment trouble and she couldn’t wait.

**Author's Note:**

> The End.  
> Please leave a comment, let me know what you think.


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